|
|
I was born during a time of great social change. The American colonists were revolting, the pending death of the European aristocracy loomed on the horizon and the genesis of a new age had arrived as do dandelion seeds borne upon a breeze. Being a child, I was oblivious to the English problem, but soon would become unwittingly embroiled in the concept of individual freedom and liberty that was embodied by the French. Change was in the air, and all modes of life in Europe were already embracing a new age of enlightenment. Undisclosed to me as of yet, my destiny would thrust me upon the bowsprit of the great ship that would ride the crest of intellectual expressionism. My role was that of a creator. The creator of a new and exhilarating musical ideology. History would recognize my contributions as the beginning of musical romanticism. |
The vast majority of European families, during the time of my youth, were cast in unmitigated compulsiveness. From generation to generation families eking out their existence in the tried and true manner perceived to be somewhat secure, yet almost always resulting in the conservation of the status quo. The cast system relegated families to a trade, or skill as though they were some kind of self imposed inbred subspecies of humanity. Families sometimes even took their sir names from their occupation. My chosen life’s work reflected, like others of the time, that which I was subjected to and expected to embrace. Bonn, in 1770 was home to three generations of Beethovens who were known as musicians to the Electorate of Cologne. I was a Christmas baby, who would be expected to follow in my fathers footsteps and promulgate, for eternity, the Beethoven name as being synonymous with one who makes music.While fortunate not to have been born the son of a coal miner, counterpunctually speaking, I was subjected to my father. My father was a broken man, who, due to circumstances beyond his control, was unable to comprehend his mediocrity. Rather than consciously accept the reality of his situation, he chose drink. How is it that he came to expect me to be a child prodigy, like Mozart, when he set an example of slovenly inconsideration toward his dependents. I endured his torment, and with trepidation accepted my chosen vocation. My first real job consisted of playing harpsichord for the Chapel. The following year I became assistant organist. The wages were almost non-existent, but adequate in stature to exonerate me of all doubt as to my lost amateur standing. I had become a professional and had begun a track record with the clergy. Rather than merely accept my vocation, I learned to love that which I did. I came to realize that music was my soul mate. Having a deep desire to learn all that there was to know, I set out to develop my strategy and plot my course. Mozart was the premier of the age, and Vienna, the city of choice. I marveled at his beauty. His style was elevating, light, eloquent, like nothing reminiscent of the heavy, struggling viscous pens wielded by his contemporaries. I knew, in my heart, that he represented the path to what I aspired. In 1787 I set out to seek the audience, and internship with the great one. As fate has it, my aspirations were thwarted by the failed health of my beloved mother. Arriving back at Bonn, I was confronted by my father, who was in no way displaying any measurable improvements over the condition he was in when I first began my sojourn. My departed mother, and my despondent father necessitated the duty upon my conscience to care for my younger brother Casper. Pragmatically, I dutifully placed my career on hold and tended to the situation. In the interim, my idol, my beautiful Mozart, he who unknowingly betrayed me by being mortal, died. The year 1791 was the year when the whole of western world took pause and mourned the passing of the great one. From the slaughter of the Loire aristocrats, to the ratification of the Bill of Rights, a single death indelibly affixed our locations upon our collective memories. It was as though a vast omnipotent black cloud had descended upon the earth, and encompassed the brilliant beam that had once shined itself like a beacon into the abyss of darkness. Who among us would now show us the way. Vienna in 1792 was, musically, the cosmopolitan center of the world. While the rest of Europe was suffering from an economic depression, worsened by a paralyzing fear of the bourgeois proliferation resulting from the French revolution, Vienna was thriving in pleasant isolation. Exotic, spontaneous, Vienna was inhabited by a congregation of young energetic artists from all walks of life. Situated at the gateway to the eastern frontiers, Vienna was evocative and exciting; a melting pot of fertility representing superlative conditions for the germination of new ideas. Vienna was where I found Haydn. Papa, as he was known, had just turned sixty and he saw in me the potential that I knew I possessed. We became close friends in a relationship not unlike the proud father and the prodiacal son. Papa was conversant in the Viennese style and I learned from him as though I were a ravenous beast. I learned not as a suckling pig, but as a wild beast of prey, devouring, with glee, the nutrients of his essence. My total immersion in the study of the Viennese style produced fruit in the form of three piano sonatas. I dedicated them to Papa. With Papa’s continued and astute management I was introduced to more and more influential people. Soon I began to prosper, and accrue fame as an upcoming pianist and composer. The name Beethoven started to mean something that conjured up an image larger than life. I found I could sell myself on my name alone. Unlike my contemporaries, I preferred to perform in private, and further strengthened my ability to propagate my intellectual property through demonstrated business prowess in the form of the newly developed means of publishing music manuscripts. I found that dedicating my works to wealthy and influential people greatly helped my career by associating me with wealth, increasing the perceived value of my works, and evoking the persona that I was secure in my financial holdings. Soon the persona became reality. At last I was financially secure. Being secure allows one to experiment with ones style, form and content. I studied the expressive power of scores incorporating opposing keys. I examined interesting syncopation, and dynamics. It was a wonderful time when my heart was set free to wander the musical tapestry of my imagination. Having completed several experimental pieces, I wrote my first symphony. The French revolution had concluded, and Europe appeared posed upon a new age of civilized mankind. Only the aristocracy shuttered with uneasiness. As with Icarus, when one aspires to fly too high into the sky, one must assume the consequences of the heat. Such was it when I found that I had become victim to a most insidious disease. What could I have done to deserve the fate of deafness. What would Michalangello have felt had he contracted leprosy and his hands fallen off. What would Gallileo experience had his eyes been plucked from their sockets by a small flock of ill tempered ravens just when his telescope first allowed him to behold a detailed view of the heavens. Like a Greek tragedy, dashed from the heights of greatness; overnight thrust into the bowels of despair, my life, as I knew it, ended and I was in agony. Depression like a heavy weight hung upon my buckling spirits. My low point was captured with a letter, my testaments letter, my Heiligenstadt testament. I spoke of the joy evaporating from my life like the morning dew, on the leg of a resting dung beetle, on a sand dune, in the Sahara, during the middle of summer. I owe my resurrection to my ardent patrons Archduke Rudolph, and Emperor Franz. While employing me as piano instructor, they comforted me with platitudes. They prodded me with tales of miracles. Even during the perilous invasion of Vienna, by the Napoleonic forces during 1805, both Rudolph, and Franz helped me through a particularly trying time when my financial security started to wane as a result of the depressed Austrian currency. Then like a hot poker impinged upon a very sensitive location, in a moment of self affirmation, I experienced my revelation. As I gazed into the mirror, taking stock of my stocky frame, pondering the pock marks on my face, disbelieving my disheveled hair, I wondered who was in there staring back at me. Had I become my father. Was I repeating his sins as a result of my own frailty. Was this acceptable. Not in the least. I set out to complete whatever I could before the inevitable happened. With new determination, I set out like a madman, ravenous to produce. I fully embraced the concepts of individuality, and freedom that Napoleon represented. In line with my previous practice of dedicating my works to influential people, I chose to dedicate my Erocia symphony to non other than Napoleon himself. Only with great control of my temper did I merely tear up the cover page of the Erocia upon hearing the news that the little general had had himself proclaimed Emperor. I pondered why the cure had become worse than the disease. How could such a noble cause have ended with such foulness and in such short order. I had all I could muster to control myself and prevent my outspokenness from jeopardizing my personal safety. Instead, I chose moderation and renamed the symphony the Heroic Symphony, then quietly added the caveat "composed to celebrate the memory of a great man". I loathed him. Fortunately, given these dangerous times, I found myself protected by my new audience with the bourgeois. They greatly appreciated my musical talents as representative of the new ideas, romanticism, and new and revolutionary ways of thinking. The character of my music appealed to the new audience. My works included symphonies, overtures, and piano sonatas. Between 1806-1812 I completed symphonies 4,5,6, 7,8. My works bridged the aesthetic freshness of the emerging romantic period in favor of renewed exploration of the legacy of Haydn and Mozart. My symphonies were longer and more grand than any other composer. I was guided by the Romantic inspirations of the epoch. My music expressed more reflective and introspective style. Silently, the ever present nemesis to my professional career grew stronger. My hearing deteriorated. Spurred on by the ever present deterioration of my hearing, I became obsessed with my professional career. My life had become one sided. The great imbalance resulted in a terrible, and irretrievable loss. Because of my fixation, I underestimated the heart of another who had great regard for me and would have provided me with a part of human companionship for which I had not yet fully experienced. Damn my pig headed stubbornness, why did I not prioritize the organization of my affaires to include my loving and caring Josephine. What a fool to have allowed her to slip away. My only solace was the knowledge that she had married Baron Von Stackel, and was probably living quite happily tending to the management of their estate. My twisted self delusion was not to last as I later found out, in 1821 that she died unhappy and by herself. I felt deeply responsible, and accountable for acting the bit part of the scenario that culminated in her unhappiness, and loneliness. My emphatic loneliness consumed me. Fortunately, and yet unfortunately fate had dealt me another twisted hand. Casper was dying and sent word that I should be guardian for his son Karl. Suffering a slow decline, my brother finally succumbed to exhaustion in 1816. The legal struggle for custody for Karl against Caspers wife Edna, nearly bankrupted me. Motivated by the knowledge that Casper was keenly grateful for my leadership, and parenthood when I had fended for the family in the days before I took residence in Vienna, I won custody of Karl. I loved my brother and swore to uphold his faith in me by preventing Karl from falling prey to the wiles of Edna. The stress of the legal struggle resulted in my inability to adequately fend for Karl, and I had to resort to sending him to boarding school. I needed to be completely immersed in my work. I had to embrace total commitment in my work for I was becoming increasingly aware that I was caught in the vortex of my physical handicap, and yet torn by the passion to begin my greatest work. My Symphony Nine: my Opus Magnum. It was a sad state of affairs when I later received word that in 1826 Karl had tried to commit suicide. As the intermingled roads of life weave their paths through the fetid passages of time, Karl managed to somehow find meaning to his meager existence in the form of a repaired liaison with Edna. Such was my ill fated attempt at establishing myself as the family patriarch. Life has it's lessons, and mine was that it is better to savor ones forte, than to expend great effort only to grasp empty-handedly at the pianissimo. I was no good at close personal relationships other than those with professional colleagues. As spawned salmon, upon completion of the deed, do languish and die, so was it for I. One is born for a deed, and I had done mine. Was it cruel that God saw fit to disallow me of my well deserved reward. Was it cruel never to be able to hear my beautiful Ninth. Silence, unending silence. Uninterrupted solitude greeted me now and for eternity. In my solitude I listened with my minds ears to the absolute perfection of the piece. Set apart from all, I and I alone could play my Ninth in splendid perfection. Perfection, without consequence or dependency upon humans encumbered by their limitations. I came to my death bed with the Ninth as my companion. My last breath left me in eternal piece, free of torment, free. |
